Saturday Centus-Flying Solo

It's Saturday again!  It's our second week of this challenging meme.  The fabulous Jenny Matlock provides the prompt, and we get ONLY 100 words to complete the tale.  The prompt is in bold, the rest are my words.  

The small Cessna 172 picked up speed as it roared down the runway, Sara at the controls, the flight instructor beside her, but for the last time. One lesson to complete, and she'd be soloing! The anticipation was leaving her almost breath less with anticipation, and the butterflies in her stomach felt more like pterodactyls. But one aspect to this adventure was making her melancholy. She was going to miss Ted. Without the lessons to bring them together, how was she going to see him again? She knew her love for him was probably not returned, but she could dream. Sara smiled and turned to him, “I don't think I'm ready to solo. I think I need more lessons.”

Head on over to Jenny's and check out the rest of the tales!

Rubik's Magic Appeal

This prompt is from Jake. He said, “Write about my Rubik's cube obsession.”

It amazes me how the old is new again. As in toys that I played with as a kid, or bands that I know from my high school days. These are now appealing to my son. “I heard this great band called Journey.” Ha! I remember necking with my boyfriend while they played in the background. (Hoping that's not what he's doing while listening...after all, he's 13 and I was 17. Not that I'm gonna let him date or anything. He's too young!)(And I'm afraid I'll still be thinking that even when he is old enough to do so.) But I'm not supposed to be writing about music. This is about the Rubik's cubes new popularity.

When I was in high school, the smartest kid in the school was Paul Hunt. (Not to be confused with the other Paul from Musical Memories. He was actually not that smart at all...just gorgeous eye candy.) Paul Hunt was in my trig class when he was eleven. And smarter than all of us. (The class had mostly upper-class-men, but I was was way ahead in math, taking it as an ninth grader, attending this class at the high school, then catching a bus back to my junior high.) (And yea, he stole my thunder when he arrived...grrr) There was no denying his genius, though, when he solved the Rubik's cube, without any directions.

Many of us had one, and would race to see who could complete a side first. And then we learned how to do two layers, stumbling upon the method by trial and error. But he was the only one who could solve it all the way. He was a generous person, though, and taught the rest of us normal, non-freakin'-genius folks how to do so ourselves. Not that I remember the algorithm now, mind you. I'm sure this aggravates Jake, who is obsessively trying to figure out.

I don't know what first got him going again, digging the garage sale cube out of his drawer to play with. Then searching You Tube for solutions. Then declaring the old, small cube inferior and asking to be driven to Walmart for a new one. Took us two Walmarts to find one, but he's now the proud owner of a standard size cube. Which came with directions! I don't remember mine coming with any directions...but my memory ain't what it used to be.

So here he is, practicing, figuring out how to translate the cryptic instructions into useable information. He sits for hours. (Wish he'd spent as much time on his last history chapter, but what can you do...summer was beckoning, and he wanted to be DONE.)

It won't be long before he's got this thing solved. Then he'll be onto some new obsession, and it just might be something else from my childhood. It's fun watching him find interests, and explore them, especially when they mirror mine. I'm proud that he loves reading, and writing, and guitar, and puzzles. It gives us many points of connection to each other. And that's something I treasure. Not all moms get to be this close to their teen boy.

Q is for Quick @ Life is Good

During this week of writer's block, I'm relying on my YellowBoy to provide prompts. He helped me with my last two post subjects, and as I sat here pondering Q, I asked him again. “Q is for Quick! You're quick at everything. You're quick at learning. Well...except for video games.” Out of the mouths of babes...

Quick! Get it done now! I'm not a patient person. At all. I've spent my life tripping and falling because in my mind I'm already at my destination. Or at least that's how my mom describes it. I appreciate the excuse, but the truth is not only am I impatient, I'm also a complete klutz. (I think my four broken bones and fourteen (not kidding!) surgeries will prove that.) Sometimes quick can be good, but of course there's always the other side. Sometimes quick can land you in a heap of trouble. Let's explore, shall we?

Quick is good when you're trying to be efficient. I can get in and out of a grocery store in thirty minutes. I remember one time a few years ago when my mother and I ended up at the same store, simultaneously. It was nice to connect, but MAN, she's a slow grocery shopper. I have a list and attack. She might have a list, but meanders slowly, up and down each aisle, engrossed in our conversation. Which meant we back-tracked. A lot. (Hi Mom, you know I love you!)

Quick can be good in an emergency. Like the time I almost sliced Mary's finger off in the tomato slicer. I was training her at Wendy's, and was showing her the tomato slicer. When I horked down on it, there was her finger, in the way, and now almost in half. I quickly grabbed a towel, applied compression, and drove her to the hospital. ( And then I had to work her whole shift for her...after my already over-time shift. But I digress.) (I probably need to do a whole Wendy's post...fast food work is horrid, but it does give you good stories.)

Quick can also be good when you're trying to make dinner. My new favorite cookbook is called 96 Thirty Minute Suppers. It's from America's Test Kitchen, one of my favorite shows. The book has each recipe on a card, and perforated. I've tried six of these now, and not only are they delicious, but they go together really quickly. I love cooking, but most of the time my schedule doesn't allow me the leisure of an hour or more to prepare.

But as I mentioned already, quick can have it's bad side, too. For example, quick is bad when you speak before you think. I've showed my Dansko so far into my mouth on so many occasions, it's hard to pick one to share. Off the cuff responses to other people's tragedies. Blurted out opinions in staff meetings. Sharing my feelings with the wrong person at the wrong time. I'm shuddering at my blunders as I write this.

Quick is also bad when you miss something. Trying to put the kids to bed quickly, and missing that opportunity when they had something to say. Rushing out the door without the list, or the mail to be posted, or those books that are already over-due. Makes for a lot of u-turns at the end of our street. Hurry now, regret later.

One of the worst case of quick's consequences, however, is when I hurry through something instead of doing it thoroughly the first time. Breezing my way through a test, making stupid adding mistakes when the topic was integration. Or not reading ALL the fine print and realizing I'd gotten myself into a contract that would cost more than it was worth. (Though I still maintain that < insert un-named banking institution here> changed the interest rate afterwards.)

And lately I've realized that I've tried to hurry through my kids growing up. “When they are (insert age) then we can_______” has come from my lips on numerous occasions. So here I sit, sometimes just soaking in the sight of my 13 year-old miracle, and wondering, “How did he grow up so fast? Wasn't it just yesterday that he wouldn't take off that spiderman costume to go to school? When did he turn into this amazing teenager who plays guitar? And when did that screaming baby who never slept become this sensitive, intuitive ten year-old?

Life moves pretty fast. Don't miss it hurrying quickly to your next destination.

I'm participating in the fab Ms. Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday.  Check out the other great posts on the letter Q.

Found-Saturday Centus

I am participating in another awesome meme with the fab Ms. Jenny Matlock.  And this one is really hard.  At least it was for me, who tends to be long winded.  The object is to complete the story,  but the catch is you only get 100 words (hence the name Saturday Centus) (and the words of the prompt aren't part of that count.)  I of course am posting mine on Wednesday...because we have a week to complete the assignment.  The bold words are the prompt.  Feel free to join us here.

My untied shoelace changed my life. As I leaned down to re-tie it, I had kicked away a few leaves. When I turned my head slightly to look where the leaves had been, I was astonished to see a rubber-banded wad of hundred dollar bills nestled in a little indention in the muddy ground. Turned out that there were 22 of them in that wad. I'd prayed for a miracle, and God gave me one. Not one of those, “Is that really God, or am I making it up?” answers. No, this one was unmistakable. In the face of foreclosure, God had given me what I needed, and not a penny more. I could now pay the back mortgage, and this month's, and have the breathing room to wait for my first paycheck. It wasn't going to be easy, but with my escape from him, it was so comforting that He rescued me.  

Never Enough Nerf

My house is riddled with bullets. Bullets with black tips, bullets with suction cups tips. Bullets that whistle, bullets that land with a thud. Even a rocket, that leaves it's launcher with a sonic “wha-thoop”, giving warning of its imminent arrival at its target. My boys are building an arsenal. A nerf arsenal.

I don't know what the first weapon was, probably the sharp-shooters sniper rifle. It can be converted into three other configurations, including an easily hidden pistol. Stealthier that way, especially desirable during all-out warfare. Which happens around here a LOT. Of course some of the neighbor boys have their own weapons, but no one can match YellowBoy's stash. He has seven weapons of mass destruction to Jake's five. This means we can arm an entire team of gunmen. And we do.

We live on a semi-circular street, only two blocks long. It's not a through street to anywhere, so there's only the traffic of the residents to worry about. In these two blocks live seven boys of varying ages. They all usually end up at our house. Don't really know why that happens, but we've been THAT house since the beginning. Maybe it's the tree house, maybe it's the easily absconded with pop in the garage. Whatever the reason, I'm actually glad. I know my boys' friends very well, and I don't have to worry about whether the other mom is supervising them well enough. I'm doing it myself. I do run out of snacks more quickly, and in the summer just try finding an otter pop. You won't. But you will find the empty, sticky tubes all over the place. Of course it isn't my children who don't throw them away properly (as if) but it sure is they who pick them up. Not very gladly, but they do eventually comply. The threat of no friends is an effective one.

It's quite the sight when the collective decides that nerf is on the agenda. They change the rules of engagement from time to time, so sometimes it's not pretend warfare anymore. Someone's upset about the rules (and not knowing that they'd changed since the last battle) and is shooting the others for real. With lots of shouting. When the weather doesn't permit outdoor warfare, they play a game of stakeout, using the kitchen, and then the basement. Shooting bullets up and down those stairs at each other.

I have no idea how they keep track of whose bullets are whose, but usually everyone goes home with what they brought. There is bullet attrition though. They do TRY to pick them all up, but as I described in the opening, they end up all over the place. When I find one, I usually just toss it into YellowBoy's room for him to pick up. After all, they can't expect ME to know which gun takes which style bullet. They're interchangeable, but heave forbid I put the glow-in-the-dark bullets into the wrong gun. It's a crime of high proportion, and I'll probably get myself shot.

I do understand why this is all so much fun. Have you ever tried the Vulcan, which is a machine gun? It can shoot 30 bullets in one load, in very rapid succession. It's very stress relieving to just pick that thing up and unload it on an unsuspecting child. All's fair, because of course they enjoy surprising me with a volley from time to time. So if you come to my house, and are stressed out, I will lend you that Vulcan and you can unload. I'll leave you with this shot: my friend, playing stake-out with the kids. And feeling a lot better afterwards.

Brags and Sags of Homeschooling

I have writer's block this morning. I've been sitting here visiting all my favorite blogs, hoping that inspiration would strike. It hasn't. I feel thick today, as in my lungs are too thick to suck in enough oxygen, leaving me breathless and winded at the slightest exertion. My hands and fingers are thick, for some unexplainable reason, swollen. Perhaps the two hours of gardening on Saturday? Yea, probably too much for my first time out there this season, and the first really physical thing I've done since this whole nasty whooping cough ordeal started. My feet and toes are even thick. My skin just feels too tight on me today. And of course my brain is thick – no inspiration or idea can get out (or in it seems.) But, I have to write. Want to write. So I asked YellowBoy, who is sitting here at my blue table with me, “What should I write about today?” He said, “Brags and Sags of Homeschooling” right before he wound himself all up in the angst of his long division assignments. This is our last week of school, and he has close to seven pages left. But I like his idea, so here we go.

I'll start with the sags, so that I can end on a good note.

Sag: though I'm a math nerd, appreciative of the beauty and symmetry and sheer poetry all things mathematical, my boys are not. They have been damaged, seemingly beyond repair, by their previous math experiences. No amount of fun assignments have changed their minds. Not the tangrams, not the origami. Not even getting to grade their own work with my iPhone calculator has changed their stubborn little minds. They hate math. And tell me everyday.

Sag: ten preps a day. It's killing me. I'm trying to go at the pace set by their school, but it's very hard to do the science and history for Jake. So much could be gained in class discussion, but it's not much of a discussion when there are only two of you. I'm so looking forward to next year when someone else is doing all of the planning, and all I have to do is supervise and grade. (We have chosen COVA, Colorado On-line Virtual Academy for next year.)

Sag: the whole sacred serenity thing. I'm never alone. EVER.

Sag: the grading. I'm hopelessly behind. Ten preps a day is also ten things to grade each day. It's not happening.

Think I'd better switch gears here...let's do the brags. I'm depressing myself with the sag list.

Brag: A loose schedule. It's lovely to not have to set an alarm, for the first time in I can't remember how long. I sleep until YellowBoy convinces me to get up. It goes something like this: a quiet touch on the shoulder, and then an announcement of the time. Followed by, “I'm so hungry, please get up!” Then, “Come back in fifteen minutes.” This can go on for a while, but it usually ends when I'm awake enough to realize how hungry I am. Then we cook breakfast together. He's learned a lot during his cooking lessons, but wants company and reassurance.

Brag: No tuition payments. We're actually surviving without my income, which was 1/3 of our total. Good thing, too, because we are Financial Peace graduates without credit cards. Dave Ramsey would be proud.

Brag: Time with my boys. Yes, this is also a sag. It's my list! I love getting to spend more time with them. We're so much more connected now that I'm not arriving at 5:30, exhausted from the day's work, and grumpy-hungry. We've had time to really talk, and enjoy each other's company, and work together. YellowBoy likes to share this table with me. He does his lessons, I do my writing and blog visiting. I'm right there if he has questions, or to hear his random thoughts. He's famous for out-of-the-blue ponderings. I should start writing them down. “Mom, isn't it weird how your stomach can stretch so much? What is it made of?”

Yes, the brags out weigh the sags. This is a good thing. And thanks for sticking with me. I'm going to look for inspiration for tomorrow.

Mother's Day

Here's why I am celebrating Mother's Day today. Miracle #1 is my boy who lived, Jake. 13.

This is my other miracle, prayed for, long awaited YellowBoy.

Thanks God that I'm a mom.